


We'll Have to Muddle Through Somehow

by RileyC



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Holidays, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce, Clark, ice skating. That's about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Have to Muddle Through Somehow

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous on Tumblr gave me the prompt: "Come home with me." This is what I did with it.

_Hark! How the bells_  
 _Sweet silver bells_  
 _All seem to say_  
 _Throw cares away…_

Out of habit, Bruce Wayne tracked the progress of a GCPD dirigible as it drifted across the dark Gotham skyline. Routine patrol, he knew, but it was an automatic reflex to scan the same sky for the Bat signal. No trace of it, however, and he let himself relax back against the park bench with a sigh as footsteps crunched through the snow toward him. He’d been expecting this.

“Would the world end if you took the holidays off?”

He looked over as Clark Kent sat down beside him, two paper cups in his hands. “Can you guarantee it wouldn’t? Coffee?”

“Hot chocolate.” Clark handed him one and took a sip from his own, steaming up his lenses in the process. “It’s good.”

“Hhn.” Bruce sampled it, rolled it around on his tongue like a fine wine. “I’m not sure it would meet Alfred’s standards.”

Clark rolled his eyes.

Bruce twitched half a smile. “I didn’t say it was bad,” he said and took another sip. “I notice you didn’t answer my question.”

Clark exhaled a deep breath that fogged on the cold air. “The never-ending battle, right?” He scooted around on the bench to face him. “People in wartime still find time to live,” he said, unusually earnest even for him. “They celebrate and fall in love and make every moment count.”

His own expression neutral, Bruce studied Clark’s face for clues to decipher hidden meanings in his words. This was one of those rare times when he couldn’t quite make anything out, however. “ _A_ moment, here and there.” He could concede that much.

Clark rolled his eyes again but contented himself with, “So let’s have a moment now and enjoy…this.” He made an expansive gesture to encompass the park, thoroughly tricked out for the holidays.

Bruce nodded and sipped his hot chocolate, feeling it spread warmth through him. “All right.” To prove he was perfectly able to relax, he stretched out his legs, crossed at the ankle, as if there was nowhere else he would rather be. That there was some truth to that was something he’d keep to himself, though. 

He studied Clark, slouched down even more comfortably in well-worn jeans and a hint of a hideous sweater just barely visible under his coat. “What is that?”

Clark opened his coat to reveal a large white reindeer image emblazoned against a red background, which might not have been that bad except the reindeer sported both an impressive handlebar mustache and an eye patch. “Jimmy was my secret Santa this year.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And you actually wore it.” Only Clark. 

“It’s not so bad. You should see the one from Steve Lombard.”

“I can imagine.” But he’d rather not. “If you’re going to dress for the weather you should really wear gloves, too,” he said as he watched Clark’s bare hands cradle the cup of hot chocolate as his glasses slid down his nose. Bruce had to fight down an urge to reach over and adjust them.

“Ma always says cold hands, warm heart.”

This time Bruce rolled his eyes. He sincerely doubted Martha Kent had ever uttered such a banal cliché. “Even so, as a security precaution.” He indicated his own leather-clad hands. “There are these things called fingerprints. An enterprising sleuth might gather them and make comparisons.”

Clark gave him an amused sideways glance. “Are we talking about any particular sleuth, or just in general?”

Bruce smirked and drank his chocolate. They never had discussed specifics of how he had connected mild-mannered Clark Kent to the Man of Steel. At least he hadn’t cheated and peeked behind the mask. “What one person can do, another might stumble upon,” he said on a cryptic note but they both knew he meant Lex Luthor.

“Nuh-uh,” Clark said. “We are living in a happy moment here and we are not going to drag Lex Luthor into it.”

Bruce could not object to that. Luthor _was_ rather like finding a slug in your ice cream. “How long is this moment supposed to last?” he asked, mostly for the satisfaction of Clark’s exasperated huff.

“Moment’s can’t be pinned down like that. They’re as long or as much as they need to be.”

“Well that’s vague enough,” Bruce murmured into his cup.

It wasn’t unpleasant to sit here and take in the holiday atmosphere. A majestic blue spruce towered nearby, liberally festooned with all manner of ornaments and strung with lights that threw out glittering, colored light over the snow. No strolling carolers at the moment but speakers mounted near the ice rink provided a stream of holiday music—currently Nat King Cole’s velvet tones extolled the virtues of roasting chestnuts. Skaters of all ages, bundled up against the cold, glided across the ice, some more expertly than others. 

“We should do that,” Clark said.

Bruce looked at him. “Do what?”

Clark jerked his chin at the ice rink. “That—skating.”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Oh come on, don’t be an old grumpybutt.”

Bruce gave him a piqued look. “I am not an old grumpybutt. I have this thing called dignity.”And skating was a skill he had never quite got around to mastering.

“So you can majestically go splat on your face,” Clark said, smile warm enough to melt the ice. “Except you won’t,” he went on, no trace of teasing in his manner now. “You know I’ll catch you if you fall.”

It was a simple enough declaration of fact. Of course Clark would catch him. There was something in the way he said it that made Bruce shoot him a sharp look and want to parse every syllable for hidden meanings. Before he could make much progress that way, Clark got to his feet and gave Bruce’s arm a gentle tug. “Come on, I double dog dare you. You can’t refuse a double dog dare.”

Although dubious on this point of social etiquette, Bruce could see no graceful way out of this—although he did glance skyward once more, in vain as it happened. Resigned to his fate, he said, “If you put it like that…” and let Clark draw him to his feet. “What do you suggest we do about skates?”

Clark pointed out a kiosk set near a stand of trees near the rink, bright white letters proclaiming: ICE SKATE RENTALS. 

Bruce wasn’t sure about that rentals part. “I suppose they’re sanitized between uses.”

“Probably. Anyway what’s the worst that can happen?” Clark asked, headed for the kiosk.

“So speaks someone who has never had athlete’s foot,” Bruce grumbled but fell into step beside him.

~*~  
 _Snowflakes in the air_  
 _Carols everywhere_  
 _Olden times and ancient rhymes_  
 _Of love and dreams to share…_

“You know, it’s even more fun when you let go of the handrail.”

Bruce favored Clark with the kind of glower that made Gotham’s most hardened criminals quake and cower in terror. Clark just amped up the wattage of his smile. Possibly the cowl made all the difference, Bruce speculated. Not that Clark ever gave a sign of being intimidated by that, either.

Anyway, he wasn’t hanging _onto_ the handrail. He was engaged in inputting data to work out the optimum approach to the matter at hand. Since the most advantageous solution was not to be out here in the first place, it was necessary to delve into his infinite bag of Plan B’s.

“I suppose you spent every winter skating at the old fishing hole.” Calculations complete, Bruce shifted position minutely so only the tips of his fingers touched the rail. It was all momentum in the end, after all.

“Byrne’s Pond, actually.”

“Hhn.” Now or never, Bruce decided, and pushed off—his momentum propelling him straight for an elderly couple who stared at him as though they beheld impending doom. Since he wasn’t sure how to put the brakes on, or turn aside, catastrophe did appear imminent.

Just shy of disaster, a powerful gust of wind came out of nowhere and hit Bruce square in the back and lifted him off his feet and left him scrambling for balance. More to the point, the mysterious blast of air altered his trajectory enough that a head on crash was averted and the elderly couple made haste to get off the ice and reach the haven of children and grandchildren. Some of the latter recognized Bruce and angry shouts of, “Billionaire douchebag! Think you own the fucking ice!” rang out with crystal clarity.

Clark, true to his word, skated up beside Bruce and caught hold of him before he felt. He steadied him on his feet and kept a hand pressed to the small of his back to help keep him upright. “As a matter of fact,” he called over to the disgruntled group as two of them made to climb over the railing, “Mr. Wayne’s charitable foundation does substantially contribute to the upkeep and expansion of this park. He may not own the ice but his generosity makes it possible for you to enjoy it. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.” 

Although delivered in official stern Superman mode, sans cape and etc., it was difficult to judge if it was the speech or the intervention of the grandparents that finally restored order and sent the group on its way at last. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bruce said once they were alone. 

“Sure I did.” Clark wobbled on his skates a bit. “We could call it a night, if you want.”

Bruce shook his head. “Like you said, I can’t refuse a double dog dare.” Besides, he thought he might be getting the hang of this. As they edged further out onto the ice, he shot Clark an amused look. “Put it in your pipe and smoke it? What decade are you from?”

“I’ll have you know that’s considered a prime retort back in Smallville.”

Bruce wouldn’t actually be surprised if that was true.

~*~  
 _Here we are as in olden days_  
 _Happy golden days of yore_  
 _Faithful friends who were near to us_  
 _Will be dear to us once more…_

“Weren’t you supposed to be the one with all the first hand skating experience?” Bruce grumbled as they went down in another heap. That a light snow had begun to drift down probably didn’t help when it came to maintaining one’s balance on a slippery surface.

“Experience, yes. I never made any claims about expertise.”

“Hhn.” At least they nearly had the ice to themselves. A handful of other skaters glided and slid along down at the other end, where the light was better. Shadowed by trees that loomed over the rink, it was almost possible to believe the two of them were alone right here. Not important, of course, except that it meant no witnesses to their fumbling and scrambling around to regain their footing. There certainly wasn’t anything else to see, he thought even as Clark grasped both his hands and tugged him along. Odd that he could feel that touch right through his gloves, warm enough to make him think he might dispense with them altogether. How could he ever be cold, after all, when Clark was there?

Clark released one hand to boop him on the nose. “You went away.”

Bruce wasted another glower on him. “It’s called thinking. And don’t do that again.”

“What, this?” Clark, unrepentant, was ready to boop him again.

Bruce intercepted him, however, and the resultant wrestling match ended in the only way possible: with them both crashing to the ice once more, tangled up in each other, laughing until Bruce, at least, was out of breath and could only prop himself on his elbows and look at Clark. 

_This_ was what Clark had been talking about, how even in the worst of times people still laughed and rejoiced…and fell in love. That realization hit Bruce with crystal clarity as they struggled back to their feet, hanging all over each other, only to collapse once more. Glasses askew, Clark smiled up at him, breath gusting out of him on a deep, happy sigh.

“I think it’s going to take a lot of practice to really get the hang of this.”

Yes, Bruce imagined that was true. Lots and lots of learning each other until they found a synchronization that was theirs alone. He gave into his earlier impulse and reached out to straighten Clark’s glasses, settling them firmly on the bridge of his nose. He let his touch linger, gloved fingers curving along Clark’s jaw. He licked his lips, swallowed. “You know those cartoons where someone has an angel and a devil on their shoulders, urging them toward some action?”

“Yeah.” Clark reached up to brush Bruce’s hair out of his eyes and lazily let his fingers, so warm, slip down along Bruce’s cheek. “What’s your devil telling you to do?”

“To kiss you.”

Eyes wide—but not in alarm—Clark asked, “And your angel?”

“Funny thing,” Bruce murmured, leaned in close, “he’s saying the same thing,” he finished as Clark, hand on the back of his neck, drew him in the last little distance. There was nothing for it then but for this—a touch of lips, tentative, testing the waters, lips parting to nibble and delve deeper as the water proved welcoming and without a trace of ice.

“That was…” Clark swallowed, kneaded the nape of Bruce’s neck.

“Umm.” Bruce kissed him some more, his mouth, the tip of his nose, his forehead. He rested his own forehead there, sharing his breath, smiling as Clark’s lenses steamed up again. “As it happens, there’s a very respectable pond on the grounds of the manor. I could show it to you…if you come home with me.”

Clark moved his head, kissed the corner of Bruce’s mouth. “To practice our ice skating?”

“That, and other things.”

“If you’re sure the world can get along without us for awhile.”

Bruce brushed snow out of his hair, kissed him again, nodded. “For awhile.”

Never enough, not now, but what was the battle for if not moments like this, rare as they might be, and to be treasured all the more for that. 

“Are we still having that moment?” he asked as they got to their feet.

“This might be the start of a new one.”

Yes, Bruce thought so, too. He hadn’t indulged in hopes or wishes in a long time but if he could have just one, he would wish for _this_ moment to never end.

“Shall we?” He held out his hand.

Clark took it. “Maybe we’ll even make it across the ice without falling on our butts.”

Bruce didn’t doubt it for a minute. Believing in impossible things was getting easier all the time.


End file.
